Numb
by Romamama
Summary: It would have been better if he just died. Then people would grieve for him…cry for him, heck even smile for him. But that's another pansy way of thinking, he decided. It's just stupid to assume that it would work out that way.


**A/N: So hello Minna…and please enjoy this very short fic~ **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Power**

Numb

Hurt…Suffering…Pain…Death. Four words…four damned, stupid words that Gilbert…Prussia, knew almost everything about.

Well he hasn't quite grasped death, but he was close to it…so fucking close to it. But when he feels it close to him, when he's about to accept it…it suddenly disappears. I was so close, but not anymore.

Funny, how the one thing…the one thing that everyone was most scared of, were so compelled to stay away from, was the only thing he wanted right now…the only thing his existence craved for, death.

No he wasn't a shallow individual…he wasn't like those stupid losers who commit suicide because life didn't turn out great for them. That's just a piece of shit; they all just act overly emotional.

He, the Great Kingdom of Prussia is not a prissy emotional pansy like those. If he was…then he would have been dead centuries ago. He's sure he's alive though…pretty damn sure of it.

That just makes everything worse.

It would have been better if he just died. Then people would grieve for him…cry for him, heck even smile for him. But that's another pansy way of thinking, he decided. It's just stupid to assume that it would work out that way. He knew that…he wasn't stupid after all.

No matter what all of them say.

He didn't care what all of them say…well at least he says he doesn't.

Everyone believes him though. He's Prussia after all…the numb, stupid, shameless Ex-Nation who doesn't and can't do anything productive but piss others off and cling to his brother for support. Didn't that summarized everything. There's more…but that's pretty much the whole thought.

That he was stupid, useless, and not needed.

He begged to differ.

It wasn't like he wanted to be useless, or a dissolved nation for that matter. It wasn't like he decided that. It was actually stupid enough that they think of him as someone who was any less than them, but just bluntly slapping it in his face was just plain shit, he decided.

They were all sissy fucking bastard anyway...even West was one of them.

Don't get him wrong…he loves his brother like how an older brother should love the younger one. But that still doesn't change the fact that he was another reason for his misery. Just another of those who helped dissolve him…just another of those who agree that he's useless.

And for some reason…knowing that Germany thought of him that way, it just hurt him…it just killed something inside.

Of course he'll never tell anyone about that, he had too much ego and a bad reputation to protect, and somehow…he found a spark of joy when he does this.

Does what?

When he protects his reputation, when he acts stupid, useless and numb, somehow it made him feel better. At least he didn't let them down…right? He didn't prove them wrong.

They don't expect anything from him…so doing anything productive just turns into suspicions. Then he'll get accused again and again, they never end.

He really just wished he could tell everyone what goes on through him…then maybe they'll understand. But he was sure they won't, so wishing for that was useless to begin with. So acting his part is the only thing he can do.

He learned that through the years. Through the years that Russia held him captive.

Those cold nights…those nights when Russia did everything to shatter, to break, and to make him give up.

To survive those nights he had to act away…to wallow in self pity but act his part, as Russia's slave…as Russia's captive. That was what suffering was called. It was suffering that he had never imagined going through in his whole life.

He reflected about this suffering once again and closed his eyes…at least that suffering eased through the years. It still here…still present though, he also figured it would never go away.

Then there was Matthe- no…Canada.

His beautiful angel, the one to save him from everything; from the suffering and grief he felt. But it was only for a short time of course…he was used once again

It turned out for the worst of course. Hooking up with England's ex-colony and France's son was something that didn't bother him. Why would it? So what? And true to his predictions, that fact didn't shatter their relationship.

Something more stupid did.

It was America. The god damned fucking hero.

'_I'm sorry Gilbert…but it's Al…he likes me, and I well…like him too, eh.'_

So he was used. Apparently he drew too much attention. He was apparently the perfect person to use to make someone jealous.

Was that supposed to flatter him, or insult him?

He didn't really need to think about it that much…the answer was already clear. But he didn't want to accept it though.

He didn't want to accept that the only person he'd ever seriously loved just turned his back on him to date his own brother. His own fucking brother, his own fucking twin brother, damn it.

It was so humiliating…so painful, that he didn't know what to say or what to do when the blonde ended it all. He even thought he was an exception…but he was just another West. Another fake bastard.

He closed his eyes. Hiding the beautiful red orbs away from the world again. He covered his face with one albino white hand and shook as he let silent tears fall down his face.

He wished that he could go somewhere…anywhere away from the world. Yet another impossible wish from him. Because those bastards are the world. Those nations who belonged together as one…they're the world. Not him…he didn't know what he was…or where he's supposed to be.

Killing himself proved to be fruitless. He tried it a couple of times but it never succeeded. It did succeed to make his reputation fall down…to just shatter in a million pieces and be carried away by the wind. So it wasn't an option.

Why did he have to put up with this?

Why can't he just die? That's not awesome…and so is his current life.

Living in an illusion that he's okay and nothing is wrong. That he's happy alone. Pathetic.

He removed his damp hand from his face and let the tear drops fall slowly down his fingertips.

He's always hurt and suffering everyday, and that pain never goes away.

Why can't death put an end to these? Why did whatever power created them hated him so much? Why he was all alone again, sprawled in an ebony bed that contrasted perfectly with his skin color and himself?

He didn't care anymore…

He's gone through this ritual every night…it never changes.

He can cry, he can show vulnerability all he want, but when the light comes back and everyone's looking again…he has to feel nothing and show nothing.

To feel that nothing is wrong…and to show everyone that he was okay without them, it was plain stupidity.

He knows that.

But who ever said only the stupid do stupid things?

That wasn't true…it wasn't true at all.

**A/N: Aww now I feel sad D: well I was feeling sad…that's why I wrote this so yeah…tell me about it. And I feel sad for saying making Mattie an ass…I love CanPru! *sighs* but I guess sometimes thing like this are needed to err…inspire ne? Okay…please review and criticisms are welcomed with open arms!**


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